Friday, May 11, 2012

·When I try to think back to all the crazy,
rebellious things I did as a teenager, and once again come up with nothing
beyond “I preferred New Coke,” I can comfort myself with the notion that my
memory is starting to fail me.

·My sexual fantasies are increasingly punctuated
by pee breaks.

·I recognized the look on the face of that
barista when I grumbled about the Journey song playing over the coffee shop PA
as the same one I gave the sixty-year-old guy at the thrift store when he
ranted to me for twenty minutes about “Hanoi Jane.”

·Nobody laughs at my Steve Martin or Mork from
Ork impressions anymore. Nobody laughed
then, either, but now I can rationalize.

·I have become quite adept at the pubic combover.

·I found myself lecturing my son that “in my day,
we were ignorant of and indifferent to things that really mattered.”

·I can’t hear a certain song from my adolescence
without quietly weeping bittersweet tears about the passage of time, lost
innocence, and the myriad squandered promises of youth. Unfortunately, that song is “Axel F.”

·I swear that was Macaulay Culkin I saw on the
cover of the AARP Bulletin.

·When people say I remind them of one of the
Baldwin brothers, I no longer take it as a compliment.